July 2017

Noted
by Stephanie Bishop

‘Between Them’ by Richard Ford
Bloomsbury; $18.99

One writes, Richard Ford claims, to counteract an “enduring truth of life: the world often doesn’t notice us”. A writer’s life is lived in the service of “noticing and being a witness”. One of the most acclaimed American novelists of his generation, Ford is best known for his Frank Bascombe series: The Sportswriter, Independence Day, The Lay of the Land and Let Me Be Frank with You. The affable yet elegiac tone of Bascombe’s narration now resurfaces in Ford’s transition to memoir.

Between Them: Remembering My Parents is comprised of two separate essays. The first focuses on Ford’s father, Parker, and the second on his mother, Edna. Both parents came from the rural South, where there was little money and minimal education. Ford tells a story of them rising to higher stations than anticipated, but which, in retrospect, appear modest and underwhelming.

Parker started off as a grocery boy and became a travelling salesman for the Faultless Starch Company, servicing the southern states with Edna accompanying him. Things changed with the arrival of their only child. Parker then travelled alone, returning home on weekends, and Ford came to know his father as someone who was absent. He and his mother formed their own semi-closed unit, which carried on until his father’s sudden death in 1960, when Ford was 16. The essay on his mother addresses what occurred after his father’s death: Ford’s transition to adulthood, the intensity of the bond between a mother and an only child, and Edna’s death in 1981.

“To write a memoir”, Ford claims, “and to consider the importance of another human being is to try to credit what might otherwise go unremarked”. In pondering this, however, Ford is brought up against his own “incomplete understanding”. While Between Them was undertaken in order to “remedy my longing by imagining them near”, it is just as much a record of lapses and blanks. Ford adopts a speculative mode, with provisional portraits evoked by missing details: “And how was it for him? Driving, driving alone? Sitting in those hotel rooms, in lobbies, reading a strange newspaper in the poor lamplight … smoking?” Oftentimes, Ford develops the scene in the negative: “I don’t remember the time of year of his heart attack … I don’t remember it being cold or hot.”

As a consequence, what is most moving is less the story told than the nature of the inquiry: the long view taken by a son trying to imagine what his parents felt about their own lives, what these lives were like before him, and what they have become in memory.

Stephanie Bishop

Stephanie Bishop is a lecturer in creative writing at the University of New South Wales. Her new novel is Man Out of Time.

July 2017

In This Issue

Illustration

To walk in two worlds

The Uluru Statement is a clear and urgent call for reform

Her eloquent heart

Arundhati Roy’s ‘The Ministry of Utmost Happiness’ was worth the 20-year wait

Illustration

The handshake

Could Donald Trump finally force Australia to critically examine its feudal obligations to the US?

Politics gets personal

Laura Poitras’ ‘Risk’ sidesteps the biggest question about Julian Assange


Read on

Image of Christian Porter and Scott Morrison

Scott Morrison’s bad faith

The PM’s bill to protect religious freedom is a solution in search of a problem

Image of ‘I Didn’t Talk’ by Beatriz Bracher

Shaping the senseless with stories: Beatriz Bracher’s ‘I Didn’t Talk’

An unreliable narrator reckons with the lasting impact of Brazil’s military regime

Image from ‘La Passion de Simone’

Performing philosophy: ‘La Passion de Simone’ at the Sydney Festival

The creatives behind this Sydney Chamber Opera production on the extreme empathy of Simone Weil

Image of Craig Kelly

Protecting Craig Kelly

Saving the MP from a preselection battle was another fine display of muppetry


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